Why is it children always act insane whenever you have a deadline?
Gotta paint your toenails before you go out tonight? Your kids will want to play “this little piggy” with your feet.
Gotta pack a house and move in ten days? Your son will play “let’s follow mommy around and pull out of boxes everything she puts into boxes!”
Gotta get to school/work/playdate on time? Your eldest will develop the urge to beat the Guinness Book of World Records for slowest walk.
Like a shark smells blood in the ocean, children can smell a deadline from miles away, and they have evolved over generations into perfect deadline destroying machines.
This morning we had a play date at our free water park. Monkey delayed our departure by eating her cereal exactly one flake at a time, and Otter pitched into our lateness with a bad case of the melting protest. (You know the one I mean, when their limbs transform into boneless tentacles as they collapse onto the floor in a huge rorschach-esqe pile of baby protest. It’s a coat of arms!)
We finally got to our date, late of course, and spent the day splashing with friends in the warm summer sun. Then we went to a pizza party, which we were also late to, due to the fact that Otter likes to abscond with his sister’s shoes. (He hides them in various places.)
Then we came home and Monkey watched the Secret of NIMH while Otter followed me from room to room screaming as I attempted to pack another box. (Feel sorry for me please) He has followed me from room to room screaming for three days. The only time I can get him to stop is when I put him in the Mei Tai and carrying him on my back while I am packing.
On the D-MER front, the effects seem to be lessening now that I know to expect them and understand their underlying cause. I am really grateful to be able to prepare myself for the rush of depair, and then to remind myself that it is chemical.